Enlightenment
by unicornball
Summary: Dean is self conscious about his body and insecure as to why Cas would love him as much as he seems to. So, Castiel shows him by worshiping his body, knowing he needs to show Dean just how much he loves him. (Destiel. Slash. Rated M; mature content and language.) Complete.


_(A/N: Rated **M** for mature content and language._

_Prompt:_ "Dean is self conscious about his body and insecure as to why Cas would love him as much as he seems to... he's not worthy... he's freckled, bowlegged, eye crinkled with a little pudgy belly. so Cas shows him by worshipping all those parts of his body... trying to show Dean just how much he loves him... seeing as Dean can't seem to accept the words. bonus would be Dean crying after... Cas licking his tears."

_My thanks to Mizackles for the prompt. I probably can't adequately convey how much I adore Dean's belly—and dem freckles and those arms and... Well. Pretty much everything—but I'm gonna freakin' try. I do apologize it's taken so long and I sincerely hope it's satisfying. Oh, and a head's up for disgusting amounts of fluffy, sappy feels (no—seriously, the fluff got away from me and I almost disgusted myself)_

_Warnings/tags: MalexMale slash. Language. Smut. Fluff. Castiel is a sap. Dean has self-worth/self esteem issues. _

_Enjoy.)_

* * *

Dean gropes behind him for the light switch, blindly smacking in its general direction while trying to keep his other hand in Cas' hair and their lips firmly attached. The lights finally go out and he slams the door closed with his foot the second they're clear. He doesn't want or need the distraction of caught body parts or anything.

He pulls away, blinking dazedly when the room is flooded with light again. Cas is looking at him in a way that makes his face heat up in less than sexy ways and a not entirely comfortable feeling to squirm through his body. He's pretty much used to Cas' intense stares—been subject to 'em for freakin' _years_, after all—but this is a new one. One he's still getting used to; it's the intimate one. It's difficult to meet because the angel has this sappy ass, awed expression on his face, blue eyes dark and adoring, even as he looks moments away from freakin' _devouring_ Dean.

In the awesomest way possible.

At that thought, Dean wonders if that 'no gag reflex thing' Cas has is an angel thing or something Jimmy already had goin' on (not that he can imagine that dude doing a damn thing with it like Cas has). He makes a soft noise of appreciation when Cas gropes at his ass, pulling him in hard and close as his tongue does that thing to the roof of his mouth, sinking into the kiss because now matter how good Cas is at kissing (which is surprisingly, _really good_) he can't stare like that while doing it.

Dean slaps at the light switch again, finding it with sheer luck since his brain is steadily losing any blood to his dick and his coordination is off because Cas is man-handling him, fingers digging into the meat of his ass through denim and the back of his thigh to bring his leg up, forcing their bodies close and tight.

He huffs with annoyance when the lights immediately come back on and Cas pulls away to look at him with that less sexy cocked-headed, squinty-eyed look. It's not the 'how shall I rock Dean's world?' tilt, it's the 'What's going on in Dean's head?' tilt. He loses the fight to not fidget, mourning the fact that the bubbling lust that had been screaming through him just freakin' _seconds_ ago is simmering down. Being replaced with that other hot feeling of anxiety and discomfort instead.

Lust he likes, lust is easy to handle. This—this _whatever_ Cas is doing is freaking him out a little.

"What?" Dean mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck before letting his hand drop to stroke along Cas' chest. Maybe a few passes over what he knows are sensitive nipples with distract Cas from doing that soul staring thing...

Castiel doesn't say anything yet, just continues in his study of Dean. His eyes flutter closed briefly when Dean's palms rasp over his nipples, the lightly calloused hand and thin fabric of his shirt offering a delicious sort of friction that sends heat and pleasure through his body. He doesn't want to be distracted, though, and he eases Dean's hands down and away with a gentle grip around his wrists. He's aware it's customary for lights to be off, or low, during intimate settings, but he wants to keep them on. Wants to see everything. Wants to see _Dean_.

However, it's obvious Dean does not wish to be seen even if he can't fathom the reasons why. He didn't think Dean would be anything close to shy in sexual situations, not with the way he usually carries himself. Flirting openly with anyone that catches his eye. Sharing himself with anyone willing.

Castiel leans closer, tilting his head a little. He briefly considers relenting to Dean's numerous attempts at darkness, but he can't seem to get over the urge to see everything. Maybe a compromise is in order? He's learned healthy relationships consist of it. He brings Dean in close, tucking his hands against his chest again, rubbing his thumbs along Dean's inner wrists. Dean is silent, watching him warily but trying not to look as though he is. And though Dean hasn't said so aloud, Castiel can tell by the increased pulse thrumming under his thumbs that the hunter enjoys the touch and he's pleased to see Dean's eyelids droop a little, mouth slightly parted and showing a hint of pink as his tongue slowly slides along his bottom lip seconds later.

He dips his head towards Dean slightly, offering a small consolatory smile. He gets close enough to kiss but pauses a breath away, teasing Dean a little. He nearly smiles when Dean leans in, anticipation written in every line of his face and body, his eyes fluttering shut. He can feel the warm puff of Dean's exhale, their lips nearly brushing and sending an anticipatory tingle though his own.

"Would you prefer candles instead?"

"What?" Dean asks, head jerking back a little and blinking a few times. He's confused at the sudden detour from making out some more. Or maybe the expected conversation of positions or something. "Candles? Oh, come _on_," he says sharply and winces. Mostly because Cas is now looking at him through dangerously narrowed eyes and swooping closer, their noses nearly touching now. He doesn't mind the angel in his personal space, not when they're alone without a gawking Sammy snickering nearby... But he's pretty sure Cas doesn't wanna kiss his face off when he has that smiting aura around him.

Or that freakin' probing-angel (not in the fun way) look; like Cas is trying to figure something out without sneaking into Dean's thoughts.

Tempting as it might be to let Cas in—mostly because he wouldn't have say sappy, embarrassing shit _out loud_—he isn't giving the angel permission.

Castiel slowly reaches out and flicks the light switch down with a finger instead of a pulse of Grace, plunging them into darkness. There is a little ambient light from a soft glow coming from the gap in the bottom of the door, but it's enough to see Dean's tense posture relax. Dean's hands sliding along his sides in a familiarly encouraging way. Dean's mouth tilting into a flirty smile now that they're in the dark and he's more at ease. He turns the lights back on and Dean frowns, just enough to get the smile that was edging on full-on seduction to just pull downwards slightly at the corners of his mouth.

"I'd very much like to see you," Castiel says bluntly, pressing closer. He feels affection surge through him, warm and tingly, when Dean's face pinks and his gaze drops just a little, settling somewhere near his mouth and holding Dean's rapt attention.

It isn't often he sees Dean Winchester blush. But he realizes it isn't an altogether pleasant blush; there's embarrassment there, too. There is enough embarrassment evident to make him shift closer, hands instinctively reaching for Dean again and cupping his lightly stubbled jaw in his palms. He gently, reverently, strokes his thumbs along the smooth apples of Dean's cheeks and leans in. Dean's gaze darts away and he frowns. "Is that alright, Dean?"

Dean doesn't know what the hell to say. Part of him is mortified at the very idea. Yeah, he's a sexy bitch—as long as you didn't look _too_ closely. And Cas _would_, the adoring bastard. There's a reason a quick fumble with a random hook-up was his modus operandi for so damn long. Strangers didn't look at you with piercing blue eyes, cataloging every damn thing he covers up in layers of cotton or pretended didn't exist. Freckles and ever-deepening crow's feet aren't noticeable in a dimly lit bar, especially after a few shots. A hurried strip, not to mention his impressive dick and skilled hands, diverted attention and made it hard to notice the bow to his legs or the few extra scars he's picked up in less-than-sexy places.

Or that annoying pudge right under his belly button that would not _go the fuck away_. The fact it was only getting more pronounced as he gets older is depressing as fuck and he firmly ignores it. He knows there are probably things he could do; exercise with Sam, maybe try a green thing now and again... Something. But he's not going to give up pie. Or beer. Or bacon cheeseburgers. So, yeah, it's just easier to distract searching gazes with a wet, eager kiss. Or to re-direct wandering hands to his ass or get the jump on a hand-job.

But it's nearly impossible to ignore Cas, deny him something—_anything_—when he does a pretty damn good impression of a kicked puppy (and fuckyouverymuch Sam for teaching Cas that). Or touching him like Dean is something precious, to be treasured and adored. He exhales a shaky breath and tries his best to feel worthy of it all. He's still in the 'fake it till you make it' club with that one, though, and he hopes like hell Cas hasn't seen through him. Because that'll mean all sorts of girly moments as Cas tries to convince him. Again.

And right now he's still too turned on to want to deal with Cas being romantic and extolling his virtues or whispering sweet nothings into his ear and skin. He can't handle that shit at the best of times, let alone half-naked and teetering on the edge.

"Sure, Cas," Dean says through a forced smile. He knows Cas can see right through it when the frown on his face deepens and the fingers on his face tighten a little, but it's the best he can manage. Somehow, candles sounds worse than fucking with the lights on. Way too 16 Candles for his comforts.

It's not like this is their first rodeo together. But their first time had been as awkward as it was fucking intense; both of them wound-up from a Hunt gone sideways, too damn relieved and on an adrenaline high that they all came out of it alive and in one piece to think rationally. After he saw to Sam's (thankfully minor) injuries, he'd turned to go check on Cas. But Cas had been right there, nearly pressed right up against his chest, intense gaze on full blast and insistent hands like he needed to check himself that Dean wasn't leaking his guts onto the floor or about to lose a limb or something. It wasn't anything new to have Cas fret over him, not really, but the in-his-face questions and physical reassurances Cas needed had been new.

The stress, the oh-thank-Chuck-we're-alive feeling of relief, the endorphins and adrenaline still running hot and thick had stirred everything up, kicked it all up to 11 and he hadn't been able to think of a damn good reason why Cas should be at least a foot away, shouldn't be touching him when it felt so damn good. He still doesn't know what made Cas grab him and practically fuse their mouths together, but he's really freakin' glad one of them had the balls to do it. Even when they stumbled into the walls like drunken idiots, hands fumbling. Cas' firm grip never faltered and he'd ended up moaning and kissing back like he needed Cas' tongue tickling his tonsils to keep his heart going. Apparently, that was all Cas needed to find his inner Alpha male or something and it had been _on_.

Neither of them had been able to get much past a few buttons popped, Cas taking the liberty of yanking his jeans down so he could kick just one pants' leg off to dangle ridiculously. Cas had barely managed to get his own pants pushed down to mid-thigh. Just enough for Cas to free an impressive erection and put it to good use. He hadn't lasted long, too keyed up and apparently really into being manhandled and fucked. He definitely had a kink for it when Cas pinned him up against a wall, using either Angel strength or mojo, and pounded him into the drywall. Not that Dean gave a shit which it was—just that it was _awesome_.

The second time hadn't been any less frantic, much to his combined relief and orgasmic delight. But at least there was less aerobics involved and his back and knees had been much happier that they managed to make it to a flat, sturdy surface. (He still can't help the secret joy of watching Sam casually sip his coffee or chowing down on a bowl of his whole-grain rabbit O's at the table Cas bent him over... One of these days, he'll probably tell Sam where his elbow is resting just to watch his brother's reaction.)

The lights go out again and he closes his eyes with a short, sharp exhale. Seconds later, he can tell there's some sort of soft flickering lights through his eyelids and he slowly opens his eyes. There are candles everywhere, flickering gently and casting soft light through the room. He has a wild thought to be glad they aren't scented and surrounded in freakin' rose petals before looking back at Cas.

"Cas," he says softly. He tries to sound taunting, like he wants to call Cas a big girl and laugh, but it comes out all breathy and soft. Like he's weak-kneed and seconds away from being swept off his feet.

OK—he kinda is.

But he's panicking a little, too. Quick fucks are much preferred over the adoring looks and gentle hands Cas is now treating him to. He just doesn't know what to do with it. He's tempted to clamp his arms down so Cas can't get his shirts off when Cas reaches down and plucks at the hem of his shirt. But he's going along with the angel's gentle urgings, as if his brain has stopped talking to his body and obediently following Cas' every silent command out of sheer habit and muscle memory. He hums softly when Cas leans forward to kiss him again, vaguely aware of the soft sound his flannel makes as it lands on the floor.

"I regret the fact I have yet to truly express the depth of my adoration for you," Castiel murmurs, hands sliding down Dean's sides and lightly resting on solid hips. Dean looks away, a blush staining his cheeks once more. He smiles a little, completely enraptured at how the pink tinge brings out the light smattering of freckles across Dean's nose and cheeks. He is aware Dean doesn't like the spots of pigmentation, muttering something about not being a cartoon character or something, so he doesn't comment. Merely enjoys silently, at Dean's temple, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean's hair. He's still tempted to mention that he likes Dean's freckles but refrains.

He really doesn't want to ruin the mood and he has a feeling Dean might actually refuse further advances if he is self-conscious enough. He's pretty sure it's obvious what he's doing when he attempts to kiss each freckle, lips soft and pliant against heated skin as he peppers Dean's cheeks and the bridge of his nose with lingering, adoring kisses. Dean fidgets with each press of lips but doesn't pull away, and starts to lean into each kiss minutely, so he continues until he's satisfied he's gotten them all.

Castiel pulls away just a little to see Dean smiling, against his will apparently because his lips are twitching as he tries, and fails, to suppress it. But his eyes are crinkled in the corners, the green of his eyes bright and warm, in that way that makes Castiel's heart feel like it's slamming against his ribcage and a curious flipping sensation centered behind his navel.

"C'mon," Dean mutters, feeling put out, shifting restlessly on his feet when Cas just _stands_ there, nuzzling and sniffing at him like a complete weirdo. Humming and smiling to himself as he rubs along Dean like a big cat or something. Before he can poke Cas, get the angel going again, Cas murmurs a soft 'Apologies' and hands slide around his hips and belly to settle on the button of his jeans.

_Finally_.

"Yeah," he encourages in an excited exhale, stomach muscles twitching as Cas' long, agile fingers stroke along his belly and hips again. He can't help looking down, wanting to see as Cas touches him. Needing to see Cas' hands and fingers on him.

He found out he has a thing for Cas' hands. It pushed some deep-seated buttons to know that those slim, strong hands can wield a blade with deadly accuracy, rip out internal organs or tear off limbs with barely any effort. Can kill with a snap of fingers, a flick of his wrist. Those dextrous, powerful, awesome hands can also jerk him off, reach places deep inside he'd never bothered to touch before, caress sensually and be gentle. Touch his body with a ridiculous sort of grace that reminds him Cas isn't some clumsy human. He'd never really noticed how nice they were before, either; long fingers, nicely shaped.

But now that Dean's felt them on various parts of his body, even _inside_ him briefly (as much as that still blows his mind), he's drawn to them. Fascinated with them. Studies them when he's sure Cas isn't looking. It's actually kinda hard to look away from them at times. He's taken to watch Cas do all sorts of things with those hands; holding a fork as Cas enjoys the occasional meal with him and Sam, the way they curl around a book as Cas reads and turns a page, the way they grip an angel blade or a machete with a deadly grace.

But even so, as much as the idea of those hands on him give him all sorts of happy thoughts, he jerks away a little when Cas' fingers linger over the button of his jeans. He tries sucking his stomach in but Cas just waits him out, keeping his fingers splayed out over his belly until he has to breath again. He sucks that breath right back in when Cas' thumbs dip down into his waistband and tease under the elastic of his underwear, just barely brushing along the wiry hairs there. Just teasing along the sensitive skin, fingers mapping the still-firm ridge of muscle right above his dick. He can't risk that stopping by squirming way like an idiot. Maybe Cas wouldn't notice that little extra.

Which is fucking stupid because _of course_ Cas notices. The guy put him back together and spends an embarrassingly endearing amount of time studying him. He nearly voices a surprised giggle, his muscles flutter and spasm when Cas' fingers press and fondle. He nearly groans now that Cas has ammunition, knows he's ticklish there. But Cas doesn't take advantage, just continues on his weird little petting thing, fingers pressing in a bit harder so there's no more tickling sensation; just warmth and sensation and pleasure from Cas' hands on his skin.

Castiel hums softly, pressing the pads of his fingers just a little, enjoying the pliant give. That lovely bulge between Dean's pubic bone and belly button is one of the few soft spots on his Hunter and he revels in caressing it. He'd like to bathe the area with his tongue, worship it with his lips and hands. He makes a soft noise of pleasure, hips surging closer and his hands tightening on Dean's hips, as the image of sliding his erection over the padded muscle flits through his mind. He feels Dean jerk away a little and he nearly frowns once again. He lets his touch wander instead, flattening his palms on Dean's stomach and sliding his hands lower to a spot Dean will appreciate without reservation.

He enjoys it, too, of course. Even though he has his own cock, he rather enjoys touching Dean's more. It's infinitely more pleasurable, oddly enough.

"_Cas_."

Castiel just makes a soft noise in response, pressing closer to Dean and kissing him again. He licks along a plump lower lip, drawing it between his own for a moment. Dean breathes out softly, almost a moan, and he nearly smiles. A gentle nudge in the direction of Dean's bed is all he needs to get them moving closer, Dean going with a teasing, excited little eyebrow wiggle. It should be ridiculous how Dean can be boyishly adorably and downright lustful in the same moment but it only makes him warm all over, reminds him of the many facets that he loves. He gets back to getting Dean naked, sliding his hands up under his shirt and pushing up until it bunches and Dean lifts his arms.

He tosses the warmed cotton away, gaze focused solely on Dean's chest. He runs reverent fingers across various scars, most long-healed and probably offering little in sensation since they were stitched in a dingy motel room instead of a sterile hospital or healed with his Grace. Ignoring Dean's groan of frustration, he bends and kisses the highest one; a knife wound from a werewolf just below Dean's collarbone. He kisses across to the other side, fingers smoothing along Dean's ribs. He chuckles softly when Dean groans again, this time with pleasure as his nipples tighten and goosebumps break out across his skin.

Castiel urges Dean onto the mattress, laughing softly when Dean obliges him happily, bouncing little on the memory foam as he lands sprawled on his back. Dean props himself up on his elbows and rests his hands on his stomach as he looks back, gaze heated and fingers digging into his abdomen instead of reaching out. He's not sure why Dean is refusing to voice his need for closeness; it's in every line in his body, in the pleading look lying under the desire. He kneels on the edge of the bed and grabs the bottom hem of Dean's jeans. He gives the fabric a tug, pleased to see Dean arch his hips to facilitate the clothing removal. As soon as Dean's flat on the bed once more, he yanks, completely disrobing the man until he's fully, gloriously naked.

He can't help looking, gaze unable to settle on one area for long, 'beautiful' coming out in a soft exhale before he can stop himself. Dean mutters a protest about not being female and he can only nod. "Of course not, Dean. You are..." he trails off for a moment, taking in Dean's nudity once more. He still can't seem to focus on any one part, even though his gaze is drawn repeated to Dean's flushed erection. All of him is pleasing and definitely male. "Wonderfully male."

Dean scoffs even as his face heats up. Cas is still looking him over and it's hard not to fidget, move away. He manages though. Mostly because he's pretty damn sure Cas would just manhandle him back onto the bed and pin him down as he worshiped him with his hands and mouth. Giving him the Bambi eyes as he runs off at the mouth, those fingers prodding and touching every inch of him.

He's really not sure why he's complaining...

"C'mon," Dean says, wiggling his fingers. "Strip," he commands after who-knows-how long of Cas just standing there staring, his palm pressing against his tented zipper. "I don't wanna be the only one naked here." He flops down and wiggles his shoulders back into the bed, settling himself. His skin feels tight and prickly, like it's too damn small and just making him feel overloaded him with _things_ from the hot look Cas is giving him. But that's all the angel is doing; _looking_. It's not exactly creepy—he's actually gotten used to it—but overwhelming since he's not used to that intense sort of attention when he's freakin' naked.

He huffs out a soft breath of relief when Cas finally gets moving, stripping himself with much less finesse than he did Dean. It's kind of a blur, really; movement, a rustle of fabric and then suddenly there's just skin. Lots of naked, lightly tanned skin. Cas shuffles closer and kneels on the bed again, completely naked this time. Shamelessly perched there, bare-assed and close-but-not-close-enough.

And wow.

Dean stares back. Because he's never seen Cas naked before and he kinda wants to punch himself in the face for missing out the last two times. He really should've put more effort into making this happen sooner... but at least it's happening now. He spends a little more time checking out Cas' chest (licking his lips because holy nipple freckle), narrow but nicely muscled shoulders and arms and finger-ruffled hair before braving the downward glance to Cas' surprisingly toned abs. And then, finally, laying eyes on Cas' cock.

He's seen a dick before. Plenty of times, in various locker rooms and in too-many-to-count pornos. But never in _this_ kind of situation, never deliberately up close and personal and with fully conscious intent and interest. Even knowing that its been near him, _inside him_, before isn't enough to prepare him for seeing it right out in the open like this. He'll probably never think a dick is anything spectacular (no matter how awesome they feel) but he's pretty sure Cas' has a nice one; cut, and not too small or big, not too thick or thin.

"Freakin' Goldilocks," Dean mutters and snickers to himself, amused by his own mental agreement that Cas is just about perfect. Cas' head cocks to the left, squinting, and he breaks into full-out laughter. "Sorry!" He says once he's able to talk without giggling like an idiot. "'M sorry. Just—" He waves a hand towards Cas' crotch meaningfully but the angel just does the tilt-squint thing again, looking decidedly less amused—or aroused—than he did a moment ago. Maybe even verging on smite-y again.

And, OK, yeah, it's probably a real mood killer to have someone look at your dick and fucking laugh. "Sorry," he says again, sobering. He sits up and eases closer, close enough their knees touch, and rubs a thumb over Cas' knee. It takes him a moment to speak, feeling stupidly shy all of a sudden. "Just thinking about how you're, like, perfect." Cas' eyes do that warming thing and Dean feels that heated flutter go through him as they stare at each other. Shit, now they're back in a sap-fest and this is so not how things were supposed to go.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel murmurs, leaning closer and grabbing the back of Dean's neck and bringing him in for a quick, heated kiss. As much as he enjoys the sound of Dean's laughter (and the way it lights Dean up from the inside), knew this isn't the best time to be hearing it. He understands what Dean meant now and he's irrationally pleased Dean doesn't find him lacking in any regard; that he, in fact, finds him perfect. Vanity be damned, but he's enjoying it. He pushes on Dean's shoulder until he lays back again, head comfortably resting on his pillow. "You are perfect as well," he says sincerely, running his hands along Dean's flanks and down his legs.

He glances up, offering a wicked smile when Dean squirms a little. Either from the touch or the words—maybe both—he's not sure, but he's not going to stop. He shuffles closer on his knees, getting close enough to feel Dean's body heat but not so they touch. He studies Dean, taking in all the finer details for the thousandth time, pleased Dean looks completely at ease laying under him, loosely caged in by Castiel's body.

"Beautiful," Castiel murmurs, lifting a hand and brushing a thumb along Dean's cheekbones. He nearly sighs, teetering on frustration with Dean's stubbornness and self flagellation when Dean's lips turn down slightly at the corners and turns his head into his pillow. He eases Dean's face back towards him with a finger under his cheek. He stares down at Dean, trying to figure out how he can convey how beautiful he is; inside and out. He may understand Dean's reluctance to think well of himself but he doesn't _get_ it, probably never will but he hopes he can convince Dean otherwise. Eventually.

Dean huffs softly, rolling his eyes for good measure. He's not sure Cas understands he doesn't need the pillow talk to get lucky, but it's not like he can tell the guy to shut up. "Guys aren't beautiful, Cas," he mutters, face hot with embarrassment and reluctant pleasure. As much as he might not agree, it feels nice to hear it.

Because really, he could easily give Cas at least 10 good reasons why that's true. Guys are loud, brash, hairy in all the wrongs spots, kinda lumpy. Built for purpose not aesthetics; _not_ beautiful.

Well. Cas is kind of beautiful... But dude's an angel and that shit doesn't count.

Dean narrows his eyes a little when Cas merely looks down at him, laser vision in full affect.

"I beg to differ," Castiel says archly. _All_ of Dean is beautiful, from his well-shaped features to his luminous soul. He purses his lips slightly, considering. Making a tactical shift, he smiles and lowers his gaze to Dean's mouth. "Would you prefer gorgeous?" he asks, dipping his head to press a kiss to Dean's slightly pouting lips. They twitch under his own with another attempt at suppressing a smile. He knows, despite Dean's protests, he's enjoying the praise—practically glowing with it even as he fidgets and squirms in subtle ways he tries to hide as caressing touches or flirty looks.

He hums, even though Dean hasn't really answered him. But the teasing lift to Dean's mouth is back and he relishes it. "Handsome?" he offers next, drawing his nose along Dean's and down to his cheek, lips pressed to the heated skin. He hums softly when Dean huffs, neither agreeing nor disagreeing but his body remains a pliant, welcoming warmth under him.

A good sign, then.

Castiel continues pressing kisses along Dean's cheeks and down his jaw. He smiles into the warm skin of Dean's neck when Dean's head turns a little, giving him free access to continue his ministrations. He lingers at a particularly responsive area behind Dean's ear, pulling away a little when he feels the rumble of Dean's laughter against his chest.

Dean chuckles, feeling slightly breathless and entirely too damn warm from the low murmurings and soft kisses, and shifts under Cas so their legs slot together better. He's still hard but he's pleasantly surprised to realize he's just as content to lay there, Cas firm and warm and heavy on top of him. Even if the angel won't shut up, probably content to sound like a thesaurus for hours at this rate, and most likely close to growing boobs. "Ruggedly good-looking," he offers, winking.

"Yes," Castiel agrees easily, smiling warmly. He shifts over Dean's body and slides his hands down strong legs, humming softly as the soft hairs tickle his palms, lingering just a little over his thighs before continuing down. He situates himself comfortably between them, making a pleased sound as he settles in and Dean surrounds him. Dean moans openly this time, mostly with anticipation because he's teasingly close to Dean's erection, hips rolling up just enough to increase the contact.

He won't be distracted though, no matter how much he longs to give Dean what he's silently asking for. He continues on, hands sliding down until he's cupping Dean's calves. So strong and well-formed, even with Dean's abhorrence of exercise of any form. The muscles are firm and defined even so, shaped by necessity. He draws Dean's legs up and leans in close, urging Dean to wrap his legs around him. Dean is quick to comply, a light kick of heels in his lower back as Dean's legs go tight around hips. It's a wonderful feeling to see him so eager. "See?" Castiel murmurs, hands firmly on Dean's knees as he leans close enough to brush their lips together. A hint of a kiss.

Castiel draws away with a smile when Dean lifts his head, following his lips, trying get more, to deepen the kiss. Dean head flops back to the pillow with a huff and slight pout at being denied. He doesn't bother trying to hide the smile Dean's reaction brings, amused more than annoyed when Dean's pout deepens. He rolls his eyes and indulges Dean in another kiss, teasing a little but unable to deny Dean something he so clearly wants. He trails kisses along Dean's jaw, pleased when there's no move to distract him this time.

"These legs are perfectly formed," he says softly, nosing along Dean's neck for a moment before pulling way to look at Dean, his hands gliding along soft, warm skin. He notes the way Dean's cheeks flush but at least the green eyes don't leave his. He palms Dean's outer thighs, fingers pressing into soft skin and hard muscle before dipping down to caress along the crease where thigh meets butt. Dean wriggles a little, obviously caught between enjoying the touch and trying to get the attention focused elsewhere.

Pleasure wins out, though, and he's not interrupted when he continues to stroke and pet, enjoying the way Dean's legs flex and squeeze him that much tighter. "Perfectly formed to fit around _me_."

"Shit, Cas," Dean breathes out, body feeling heavy and restless at the same time, his eyes fluttering closed. It's corny as shit but it's hot, too. Especially because Cas is rubbing him just right, fingertips pressing and sliding, making everything get all warm and tingly and pinging all sorts of hot spots he never bothered mapping out before. He makes a soft sound when Cas' hands clamp around his hips, his thumbs rubbing and sliding along the dip between his hip and thigh. Sliding down until he can feel Cas' knuckles brush against his balls.

He arches a little, hoping Cas will go a little farther, but Cas doesn't move. The fucking teasing bastard. "Yeah, sure," he agrees, knowing Cas is waiting for an answer before he gets to the good stuff.

Castiel chuckles softly, unsure if he should take Dean's placating answer. He unwraps one of Dean's legs from his side, lifting it as he turns his head. He drags his tongue along the delicate skin behind Dean's knee, pursing his lips and kissing the area wetly. He smiles into the reflexive jerk of muscle and decides to let his mouth and hands say it for him, knowing Dean will understand—_appreciate_—that much better. He's noticed many things about Dean Winchester over the years and one of his favorites is his ability to speak with his body alone, especially when it contradicts his words. Dean may say he's terrible with words, hates chick-flick moments, but he's very open with his touch to those he cares about. Very perceptive to other's body language more so than what they're actually saying.

He presses his fingers into soft flesh, enjoying the give and pleasured response from Dean, before using his grip to reposition Dean with a few movements. Dean goes willingly enough, body splayed out and completely relaxed into the mattress beneath. He leans back over Dean, mouth leaving a warm damp trail up his stomach and chest. He's tempted to ask if Dean would like a different position, but he decides against it; Dean hasn't asked for anything else.

And he knows Dean would not be shy about asking for—_insisting_ on it—if his desires differed.

"Turn over," Castiel murmurs, half asking, half commanding, lips brushing along Dean's nipple. He untangles their bodies enough to give Dean the room to do so, smiling a little as Dean flips over with an eager scrambling of limbs. As soon as Dean settles on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms, he straddles the backs of his thighs, trailing kisses along his shoulders and down his back. He smiles into the small of Dean's back, tongue poking out to briefly leave a wet trail down just to above the swell of Dean's rear. He nips at one firm cheek, pressing another smile into the firm flesh when Dean jumps with a gasped sound of surprise, hips arching up a ever-so-slightly in a silent bid for more as his legs spread accommodatingly. He palms both cheeks, admittedly playing a little as he kneads and rolls them in his palms a little.

He resettles himself over Dean, leaning up enough for a better grip and view. "Would you like more of that, Dean?" he asks, voice low and curious as he kisses along Dean's lower back, lips and tongue teasing the top of his cleft in silent demonstration. He trails a finger slowly, gently, between Dean's cheeks; not breaching, just... teasing. Following the alluring curve of muscle and soft skin with his fingertips. He knows of such things, did a little reading when he wanted to learn more than he had simply observing, but he truly had no idea if it would interest Dean.

He'd back away if Dean wished it. For the most part, he knew the Hunter avoided such areas of his body when it came to sexual pleasure; he ignored indulging such wants and needs out of some misinformed notion of human masculinity. But he can feel the _want_ practically oozing off Dean, hear the hitch in his breathing, the subtle upwards cant of his hips, the way his muscles clench around him, inviting and wanting.

"Maybe," Dean whispers, voice muffled by a pillow and his arms. As much as he might want to deny it, he can't—not to Cas. Not when Cas is _right there_, watching every twitch and hearing every swallowed moan. He buries his face back in his arms, mortified to feel how hot his face is. He does not blush, for fuck's sake! But maybe there can be allowances made for blushing when he's got a freakin' angel of the Lord asking if he can play with his ass. Cas' fingers knead into his butt cheeks again, long fingers caressing and teasing along his crack and down towards his balls.

His hands clench when he feels Cas' knuckle teasing along his perinum, pressing in and making pleasure spark through him. It's so good and he can't stop himself from arching into the movement, making a needy sound he can't quite muffle in his forearm. It's so freakin good, but it's something he doesn't normally let himself get into. A tease of a finger during a blow job seems like a whole different ballpark than just laying back and letting Cas get his freak on.

But—It's _Cas_. So, it's not like he's going to think less of him for wanting something like this. Not if he's offering, practically drooling all over him as he taunts and teases with those graceful fucking fingers and deft hands. If Cas can get over him literally torturing people and nearly ending the damn world, a little ass-play shouldn't be a big deal, right? And it's a plus that Cas has stopped with the 'you're beautiful' bullshit and just went for the hands-on approach.

Even if he is poking and prodding at all his parts in a way that's less fuck-you-stupid and more reverent.

Dean wriggles a little, mostly just to feel the way Cas' body rubs against his. Wiry leg hair and strong muscles never felt so freakin' good. He kind of wants to shift his hips a little, lift up his butt just enough to feel the heated weight of Cas' hard-on a little better, see if it'll nestle perfectly between his cheeks like he's 90% sure it will. But he doesn't want to distract himself from the now, doesn't want to miss out on the very real chance that Cas is going to follow through on this.

"Yeah, Cas," he finally says, unable to lift his face from the pillow. He hopes Cas can hear him because there's little chance of him being able to look over his shoulder and meet those too-blue, see-too-damn-much eyes right now. Not for this. Even if it does feel incredible. "Go for it."

Dean braces himself, waits for the invasive feeling of Cas spreading his cheeks and just diving in. But instead of that, he feels Cas' lips on him again, gentle little kisses, stubble lightly scrapping along sensitive skin as fingers trail soft and delicate. He can't help it; he shivers and moans softly, arching up into the sensation. It feels awesome and drives another heated tingle through his entire body and arrowing right to his dick.

He's not sure how Cas manages to literally kiss his ass and fondle down his legs at the same time, but he does it—the flexible bastard.

Castiel gently caresses along Dean's thighs, his fingers dipping down low to brush the delicate hairs along the sensitive inner skin. He drags his lips along Dean's upper thigh, returning to the muscled flesh of his right cheek. He can feel Dean shudder with pleasure, his breathing stuttering a little in his throat at the tender touch. He looks up enough to see Dean's fingers clenched around the edges of his pillow and he can practically feel Dean's torment. The internal battle being waged between wanting to beg for more or telling him to stop being so damn sappy.

But he can't, as much as he'd give Dean anything he desired, that's one of the few things he can't do. He knows Dean won't allow himself to accept soft, tender words of devotion, so he's content to _show_ him. He risks a murmured "precious" into the small of Dean's back, fingers tracing heated skin and reveling in Dean's soft moans. It earns him a grumpy thump to the back of his thigh from Dean's foot, a half-hearted silent chastisement. Swallowing the urge to continue, he presses on, unable to deny Dean pleasure. He increases the pressure, making each touch and caress sure and strong, guaranteed to have pleasure lighting up Dean's nerve endings. Pressing in all the right spots to make Dean writhe and finally moan aloud, twitch and keen with growing desperation. He can't help the pleased groan he makes, almost seeing it reverberate through Dean's body, when Dean frees a hand to fist in his hair. He wants to lean into the touch, enjoy the feel of fingers clenched tight in his hair as Dean presses upwards, urging him to continue.

Castiel won't be rushed, though, and he takes his time opening Dean up with his tongue and fingers. He remembers reading about ways to make this process as pain free and discomfort free as possible. A momentary pause and he's holding the lubricant Dean keeps in his nightstand. He dispenses a generous amount into his hand and then focuses on spreading it around, making sure it gets in deep. He feels a momentary pang of shame and regret knowing they hadn't been so thorough the other times. The knowledge that he'd most definitely hurt Dean had been... terrible. A burst of Grace had felt adequate at the time. But Dean hadn't said anything to the contrary, hadn't blamed him, hasn't refused any further advances or even seemed to think their previous couplings had been anything short of 'awesome'.

Still... he's determined to make this and every time after as enjoyable as possible. And he's sure, by the gulped moans and whimpered sounds Dean is making, he's doing a fairly successful job. It's probably a slight misuse of his knowledge of human (and Dean's specifically) anatomy to take full advantage of every erogenous zone and pleasure point, paying special attention to the prostate. He revels in Dean's response, pleased to see the last of his restraint melt away with each touch, the press and gentle slide of his fingers.

Dean tries to hold out, not writhe around and make the sounds he's currently making. But Cas' hands and mouth are every-fucking-where. He doesn't know whether to buck into the hand Cas has wormed under him, loosely circling his dick or press back into the fingers and tongue working him over. He does both, shamelessly now because it feels too damn good to give a shit what he looks like, what he sounds like. He's not sure how Cas can stay so damn coordinated when fingers thrust in, fingers stroke and fondle along his crack and balls, that mouth hot and wet against him.

Castiel pulls away, eyebrows raised in wonder that he's able to fit so much of himself inside Dean as he slowly removes his fingers, and kisses his way up Dean's back, nuzzling at the sweaty, flushed skin at the back of his neck. "Roll over."

Dean does, eventually. He's flushed, hot and tingly from Cas working him open, but he manages to flop over onto his back, grinning up at Cas when the angel notices his erection, flushed dark and wet with obscene amounts of pre-come. He's not so sure he's ever been this hard, for this long, before. It's verging on frustrating, honestly, but he knows Cas'll take care of it. He tries to ignore the way Cas slides in between his thighs, hands doing that reverent stroking thing again and just focuses on the hungry gaze the angel is giving him.

He groans softly, arching up and pressing his leaking dick into Cas' stomach for some friction when Cas leans in, blanketing his body, pressing down in a way that his pleasure drunk brain is really on board with, and just goes back to murmuring weird things in his ear. Thumbs gently stroking along the lines around his eyes, sliding down and pressing into the corners of his mouth before Cas tips his face up and kisses him, soft and sweet little pecks and nibbles before jamming his tongue in there, hot and dirty. He can't keep track of a damn thing but the pleasure and the low rumble of Cas' voice as the angel peppers kisses all over his face and neck again.

"Dean," Castiel murmurs, thumbs rubbing along Dean's neck and jaw. He waits until hazy green eyes blink open and focus on him. "Protection?"

Dean tries to think, brain lust-fuzzy and straining through the soup of hormones and lack of blood. He tries to remember if he's even got any condoms laying around. It's been an embarrassingly long time since he's thought about sex (with anyone else but Cas). Even if they've only started this two weeks ago... He didn't spent a lot of time moping about it even before that—having no clue that it could actually _happen_. The other times, they hadn't been thinking clearly enough to stop and think about slapping a condom on so he figures why start now? Sure, the spunk in his ass felt weird, but it wasn't exactly horrible.

But then again, maybe Cas is asking for a reason. Even with habitual condom use that neared religious when he was banging anything in a skirt that said yes, he tried to get himself checked out as close to every 6 months as he could manage, when they were close enough to a free clinic. (He remembered those 'scared safe' pictures in health class... And he refuses to be taken out by Herpes or something, instead of a werewolf or something unskanky, and relatively unembarrassing.) So he's not so worried about himself. And Cas... Well, dude did think 'angel blade' was considered protection the only time he'd managed to get laid. Did freaky angel healing count for the clap?

"I'm good. D'you need it?" Dean finally asks, looking up at Cas and trying to think past the hard, velvety hot erection pressing wet and insistent along his hip and Cas' intense look. It's really fucking difficult to think when he's hard enough to build a bird-house with his hands behind his back and Cas is doing that fucking thing with his fingers and toes. The idle, soft touches are distracting but he's really not going to tell Cas to stop.

"No," Castiel admits, ducking his head a little. Dean chuckles, a low dirty but still affectionate sound, and brings him in for a kiss by his ears, his feet sliding up the backs of his legs until they settle and cross just behind his thighs. He wants to tell Dean how pleased he is there won't be any barriers between them, how much he's going to enjoy feeling nothing but smooth, tightness. How intimate and wonderful.

He doesn't though.

Instead, Castiel just gets closer, hands roaming along soft skin and firm muscles. "Perfection," he murmurs, pulling away from Dean's lovely lips to nip and kiss down his jaw and neck again. Dean's eager responses heat his blood, his hips twitching in pleasure. He tongues at the smattering of freckles along the tops of Dean's shoulders, lightly nipping the taut skin, causing muscles to flex and bunch as Dean's arms wrap around him and squeeze gently but insistently as Dean tries to get him closer, to move things along.

Dean huffs out a breath, but doesn't interrupt Cas or say anything. He's used to being touched but not like this. He's used to small, soft hands. Manicured nails digging into his chest, shoulders or biceps in the heat of the moment. Not hard, calloused touch, demanding and reverent at the same time moving slow and determined. He's not used to fingers mapping out every damn inch and fluttering back when he moans a certain way or twitches with pleasure.

He nudges his feet into Cas' ass, lifting his hips enough to grind against Cas with clear intent. He doesn't think twice about spreading himself out, practically panting and drooling like a porno queen at the awesome feeling of their cocks sliding together. He finds a way to shift and spread himself wider when Cas finally gets his fucking hands into play, sliding under his thighs and teasing at his ass again. He wriggles and presses into the touch of a knuckle tracing up and down, nudging at his balls until Cas gets where he wants to be.

He makes another encouraging sound, clamping his hands on Cas' ass and _pushing_ until Cas gets the idea and gets into a better position. He nearly laughs when Cas pulls away with an annoyed grunt, hand smacking along the bed as he searches for the lube. Cas finds it somewhere around Dean's knee and he grabs it, holding it up for Dean's approval. Or maybe just for a pat on the back, judging by how pleased he looks with himself for remembering.

Dean would wonder how Cas forgot to get himself ready but he was really enjoying Cas' attentions too much to care. He doesn't bother pointing out that he's practically dripping with it, so it's not like Cas needs to add more to the mix. But he pops up onto his elbows to watch anyway, licking and then biting his bottom lip as he watches Cas fist himself, quick and efficient but still hot as hell.

Castiel leans back just enough to get enough room to slick himself up. From his peripheral he can see Dean watching him intently, lower lip firmly clamped between his teeth as he looks almost covetous, like he's wishing he's the one performing the task. He tosses the lube aside and makes a mental note to request Dean's assistance next time; he's quite sure they'd both enjoy that. He doesn't dawdle this time, just grabs both of Dean's legs with a firm grip behind Dean's knees and pulls, sliding Dean's body up the incline of his thighs until they're nearly touching. The feel of Dean's knees pressing tightly along his sides is amazing and he releases a shaky exhale.

"Oh fuckin' shit," Dean breathes out, breath stuttering out as Cas manhandles him, pretty much the same damn time Cas makes a similar noise. He doesn't have time to comment on Cas abusing his angel strength, or maybe just show his appreciation for it, before Cas is lifting his hips up with a hand at the small of his back and sliding home in one quick push, pulling him in close by the hips. He can feel Cas' fingers digging into the muscle and bone, but he doesn't care, can't manage to find one fuck to give as pleasure lights up his entire body. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, groaning softly and needing a moment to catch his breath, breathe through the stretch, the sharp pleasure of Cas filling him up.

He kicks a heel into Cas when a full minute (maybe a freakin' week, he doesn't know, can't think past 'long enough') goes by with Cas there, curled over his body, petting his thighs, chest and belly and whispering all sorts of ridiculously sappy shit. His cheeks burn when Cas murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like "beloved" into his hair, rubbing his stubbled cheek there like a cat scent-marking his turf. He'd complain, maybe explain some things about what's cool to say to someone under you and snug around your dick. But he can't bring himself to do it, mostly because it feels awesome and he's more relaxed than he thought he'd be pinned under Cas, all splayed out with a dick up his ass. Cas nuzzles him again, lips dragging along his neck. Cas presses a few kisses between the syllables of "self-sacrificing" (he's pretty sure there's also a barely audible "stupidly" before it that he really can't argue with) and something about his bright soul before he nudges Cas, non-too-gently.

"C'mon, man," Dean urges, shifting his hips encouragingly. He smirks a little when Cas inhales sharply, eyes fluttering closed and his fingers dig into the meat of his thighs a little at the sensation.

"_Dean_," Castiel mutters, striving for chastisement but only succeeding in sounding breathless and slightly begging. Dean shifts again, the move causing him to push in just a bit deeper, and gives a taunting squeeze. He groans and slides his hands from Dean's thighs, up his stomach, across his ribs and down his hips, needing a better grip. He had wanted to be languid and adoring, having every intention from the start to dote and worship and caress, truly make love, but he's having a hard time tamping down the temptation to just push Dean into the mattress and thrust and rut until they're both spent when he looks down at Dean. Dean, who's grinning impishly, cheeks flushed, green eyes dark and practically glittering up at him. He groans softly at the temptation. He's become woefully inept at doing so around Dean, for a considerable length of time.

He settles on a happy medium; moving closer until they're nearly chest to chest, gently easing Dean's leg up towards his own chest just before he starts to move. He revels in the wide-eyed look of pleasant shock on Dean's face and frees a hand from Dean's other leg roam and caress. He's pleased for his coordination, allowing him to maintain his thrusting pace while worshiping Dean's body with his hand. Thankfully, Dean is too caught up in the pleasure to complain when Castiel whispers 'beloved' through harsh pants, his hand sliding up Dean's chest to rest high on his shoulder.

Perfectly aligned with a mark no longer there, but still felt. He moans softly with surprise when Dean's hand slides up his arm, fingers scrabbling for his own and interlocking tightly. He rests their entwined hands over Dean's head and leans in for another kiss, needing it so he doesn't say something Dean truly won't want to hear. It's messy and a their lips don't quite line up as they gasp and pant, but it's still wonderful. Dean's hips lift and his fingers are squeezed tightly. He takes careful note of the guttural groan of pleasure and holds Dean still so he can maintain the angle that has Dean's breath coming out in sharp little gasps and unreserved moans, head tilting back into the pillow.

"Holy fu—! Right there, Cas. Don't fuckin' stop doin' that," Dean pants out, eyes tightly shut as he tries not to whimper and make those sounds again. But he can't stop it, can't do anything but lay there and make those fucking sounds because Cas is like a pleasure seeking missile, unerringly nailing his prostate with nearly every damn push and shove in, his fingers rubbing and pressing against the stretched out muscle clenching down on him. It's overwhelming and somehow so much better than being pinned to the wall and fucked stupid with his pants dangling off his ankle.

He wants to say something, maybe warn Cas that if he keeps this up, it's gonna be over too damn soon. It feels like they've been going at it for a week and like they just started at the same time. He goes willingly, moaning loudly to the point of almost screaming, when Cas moves him again, pushing his knees up to nearly his armpits so Cas can press in close again, mouth sloppy and hot against his. God, those hands slide up his chest and settle on his shoulders. Teeth nip at his bottom lip and chin and it's awesome. "Cas. I—"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel manages between pants and grunts of effort and pleasure, aware of what Dean is trying to say. He's longing to see Dean let go. He mouths at Dean's earlobe, ignoring the sharp sting of Dean's blunt fingernails digging into his shoulders and just focuses on the wild clenching of muscles, the way Dean keens and clutches at him.

Dean arches, twitching and making whimpering, soft guttural noises as he comes, grabbing at Cas wherever he can get a hold on. It's so intense, more than he's ever experienced, and he nearly cramps up with it, making all sorts of noises as he rides it out. It takes a long moment for him to realize there are tears now running silently and freely down his temples. He's too out of it to be embarrassed about it, either. He can feel the tears pooling in his ears but he's too damn shaky and boneless to even lift a hand to wipe his face off. He'd be embarrassed, crying during sex like some emo virgin (or Sam, ha!), but Cas looks fucking transcendent as he stares down at him and it overrides any sense of shame or embarrassment.

His eyes flutter closed with a soft whining moan when Cas grabs his hips and holds tight, grinding into him as his face scrunches up and comes with a soft grunt. He huffs out a breath, over-sensitive but not really caring when Cas keeps doing that rolling-circling-grinding thing with his hips until he shudders one last time and flops against his chest, panting softly into his ear. He leans into the touch when he feels Cas' pursed lips at his neck and wandering lazily upwards, finally landing on his temple.

It takes a few moments for him to realize Cas is kissing his tears, lips dragging over the fresh wet trails. His breath hitches at the realization but his body is still too orgasm-stupid to push Cas away or making any comment as the angel's kisses get a little more passionate, a hint of tongue mixing in with soft lips. He squirms a little, overwhelmed and speechless when the kisses turn wet, open mouthed, and Cas is practically lapping up his tears and making soft little happy noises as he does it. The weirdo.

He smiles, feeling like a giant sap, but unable to stop it from happening. His hand burrows into Cas' hair, messing it up even more. He tilts his head enough to nuzzle at Cas, give back a few lazy-sloppy kisses of his own. He's not sure if he should say something. _Thanks_ seems really fucking inadequate and 'I love you'— Well. He's pretty sure the worst time to get into that pool is when you're naked, pleasure-numb, sweaty and covered in come. Especially when most of it isn't yours... It's probably a contact-high sort of thing from Cas that makes him want to do that properly (if he'd ever actually managed to work up to doing it at all).

"Alright," Dean manages, voice rough and still a little slurred, planting a hand on Cas' chest and nudging him away. He's already half-asleep but still aware enough to grimace when he feels Cas pull out and flop gracelessly to his side. He goes willingly, loose-limbed and flopping just as gracelessly when Cas pulls him close. It's cuddling, no other way around it, but he can't find it in himself to protest.

Not when Cas feels just like the universe's best memory foam pillow and mattress all rolled into one. He's vaguely aware of some hair petting and Cas whispering something that he's pretty sure is something extra-sappy in Enochian, but too exhausted to do anything but wriggle a little closer before finally falling asleep, still smiling stupidly.


End file.
